


Power Play

by SparklingDragonTears



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Implied Violence, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Morally Ambiguous Peter, Morally Ambiguous Stiles Stilinski, Pack Dynamics, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Power Dynamics, Rimming, Steter - Freeform, ambiguous alpha, minor blood play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 09:11:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9116800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparklingDragonTears/pseuds/SparklingDragonTears
Summary: “He tried to Bite me.”Peter was glad he had moved his hand from the boy’s neck. His claws slid through his control and tore through the sweatshirt sleeve without his consent. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this infuriated. Who the Hell did that guy think he was, trying to claim /their/ Stiles, trying to force the Bite onto him, trying to take him away from them, trying to own him, trying to enslave what no Alpha ever could ever take unwillingly?Peter could practically feel his pulse in his head, the smell of the other wolf hanging in the air like rotten trash. “Whose blood?” Peter demanded, once he noticed that he was leaning into Stiles’ space again, trying to pick apart the mystery of the night.“His.” Came the terse reply in that same hollow tone that both terrified and excited Peter with all it implied.-or-Stiles hooks up with a were who tries to bite him and comes to Peter because he wants to smell like pack again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> D/C as usual, I don't own anything. :P  
> I felt a little sad that I love the fandom so much and I've written so little. So Merry belated Christmas to all the Steter fans out there! I hope you like it. <3
> 
> \--

Peter recognized the heartbeat the second the boy set foot in their parking garage. He knew who was coming up the stairs no matter how long it took the boy to gather his courage and do so. What he didn’t expect was a tentative knock on the sliding door and an onslaught of scents assaulting him through the heavy metal. 

He had to shake his head briefly to focus on the boy’s scent past the smell of sex, strangers, sweat and sickeningly sweet alcohol. Sliding open the loft door, he was not expecting Stiles to be causally dressed in black sweatpants with his hands shoved into the pocket of his oversized grey hoodie. The hood was up, covering the boy’s eyes, but Peter could smell the guilt, rage and fear pouring off of him.

“Your Alpha isn’t here,” Peter mentioned vaguely, knowing that Stiles knew both Derek and Scott were out training tonight. 

He got a half-hearted “Oh.” in response. 

The two stood in silence for a moment, Stiles scuffing his shoe on the floor, Peter trying to pinpoint everything Stiles had done tonight. There was alarming him was the tinge of copper against the rest of the scents. Peter could practically hear the boy shiver with his pounding heartbeat.

“P-Peter?” He asked softly. Peter tilted his head for the boy to continue, and after a hesitated second, “Can I come in anyway?”

He would never admit it, but the soft plea did something to his wolf and made him want to sink his claws into the boy so no one but pack would ever touch him again. He stepped aside wordlessly so Stiles could step forward, but the second he crossed the threshold, the hairs on the back of Peter’s neck stood tall. 

Peter reached out and grabbed Stiles’ shoulders before he even comprehended moving. There was a sharp, grinding, raw scent underneath all of the others. Something primal spiked through the older man as the animal in him felt the threat.

“Another wolf?” He demanded, trying to identify the one who would dare leave a scent on _their_ Stiles. Another man was Stiles’ prerogative, but another _wolf_ was a different matter entirely. Any were would have known from a mile away that Stiles was claimed. Peter barely noticed the flinch when he dug his fingers into Stiles’ shoulders, but it caught his attention the way the boy tipped back his chin to allow Peter closer to his neck. 

Stiles had known. Of course Stiles had known. There was no way he would have bedded a werewolf without completely understanding who the other was. Even if it was an outsider. Peter forced his fingers to uncurl from the thick material of the sweatshirt and stepped back and survey the boy. As much as Stiles was pack and as much as no one doubted his loyalty, Stiles wasn’t another Beta. He _wasn’t_ a wolf and he _wasn’t_ theirs, no matter how tightly their bond pulled them all together. Stiles was human.

Stiles could sleep with whoever he damn well pleased.

Peter suspected Stiles’ motive had something to do with all of this. But still, underneath the sex and wolf and club and _men_ and anger, Peter could smell pure anguish. Stiles hadn’t smelled this defeated since the aftermath of the Nogitsune. 

Peter reached out and tipped up Stiles’ chin, forcing the boy to make eye contact.

It terrified him.

Stiles’ eyes were unblinking and unreadable, dark and shadowed. He couldn’t hide the emotions pouring out of his pores on his sweat, but his face was a mask of concrete. 

“You knew he was a wolf.” Peter stated, trying to keep calm. Stiles didn’t look away.

“Yes.” He answered flatly. That answered two questions. Peter tramped down his discomfort and watched Stiles’ empty eyes carefully.

“Was it consensual?” Stiles didn’t blink, but swallowed underneath Peter’s hand.

“Yes,” The tick in his heartbeat made Peter see red. Stiles tore his eyes away from Peter’s as the blue flashed across them. “The sex was!” Stiles sounded a strange mix of annoyed and afraid and it made Peter wonder whether Stiles was punishing himself for something and expecting Peter’s rage. “The sex was…” He repeated softly, looking into Peter’s chest.

“…But?” Peter prodded, hearing the unspoken continuation. Stiles was quiet and Peter had to consciously keep his claws in to keep from puncturing the boy’s windpipe. He took a deep breath and relaxed his hold, moving his hand to Stiles’ shoulder again. “But?” He tried once more.

Stiles mumbled so softly that only a wolf could have heard him.

“He tried to Bite me.”

Peter was glad he had moved his hand from the boy’s neck. His claws slid through his control and tore through the sweatshirt sleeve without his consent. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this infuriated. Who the Hell did that guy think he was, trying to claim _their_ Stiles, trying to force the Bite onto him, trying to take him away from them, trying to own him, trying to enslave what no Alpha ever could ever take unwillingly?

“I don’t belong to anyone,” came the sharp, deep, steady voice, when Peter realized he’d been speaking out loud. Fuck. 

Noticing that Stiles had not moved to push Peter’s grip away from him, Peter ground his teeth together and breathed deeply. Twice. 

“You know that’s not strictly true,” Peter snapped, his snark never quite under his control when it should have been. Stiles didn’t reply. Peter could practically feel his pulse in his head, the smell of the other wolf hanging in the air like rotten trash. “Whose blood?” Peter demanded, once he noticed that he was leaning into Stiles’ space again, trying to pick apart the mystery of the night.

“His.” Came the terse reply in that same hollow tone that both terrified and excited Peter with all it implied.

More silence as Peter breathed the heavy scents of pain and anger, and Stiles standing stark still, the terrifying shadow of the Void coiling back into Peter’s memory. Debating whether or not he wanted to ask how Stiles got away, he was spared by the vulnerable plea that hit him. 

“Get rid of him…” Stiles’ heartbeat was steady. Peter knew there was a reason he was here tonight. The boy had made up his mind the second he’d left the other wolf. “Get him off of me,” Stiles asked, desperation laced heavily in his voice. 

Peter swallowed hard, keeping himself anchored at the boy’s shoulder. He couldn’t even lie to himself to say he’d never wanted to claim the kid, to rip him apart and cover every inch of him with the Hale scent, with _him._ But anyone who had any sense at all would never try to take what Stiles wouldn’t give. Any supernatural creature would feel the power lurking under the human’s veins, would never try to mark him or take him, if they were smart. Peter had warned Derek the second he’d touched Stiles’ skin the very first time. 

_“If you’re touching him, he’s letting you.”_ Peter had said. And as much as Scott irritated him, when the boy became an Alpha, he couldn’t help the spark of _conscience_ he suddenly had when he thought about Scott starting his own pack. Scott hadn’t trusted him (albeit for good reason) so he made Derek promise to tell him, a promise to his Alpha, his family. A promise Derek would never break, no matter what happened.

_“Neither of you,”_ Peter had insisted, shaking Derek’s shoulders, despite the scowl on his face. _“You must never, ever try to Bite him. Don’t ask him, don’t tell him, don’t try to convince him.”_ Derek had, understandably, been pissed at that point.

_“Isn’t that exactly what you did?”_ Derek had tried to shake off Peter with a disgusted look, but Peter held tight.

_“Yes, nephew. And if I had done it, I wouldn’t be alive to warn you.”_ He remembered the irritation trying to make Derek listen, make him understand. _“That_ human _you all love and adore has a power in his very soul. A power that only those with the misfortune to experience it may ever know. And believe me, they will not be around to tell you about it.”_ Derek looked skeptical, but had always had a soft spot for his uncle and was never sure whether he was being tricked.

_“How do you even know?”_ He’d demanded. Peter opened his left hand, revealing Lichtenberg markings all across his palm. Derek’s eyes widened in shock, werewolves don’t scar.

_“I wouldn’t be alive to warn you.”_

Peter could only assume that Derek had kept his promise, since his nephew would hardly ever touch Stiles, no matter how glaringly obvious his desire was for the boy, and he had never once heard of Scott offering the bite to Stiles, even though they had been two sides of a coin their entire lives.

So now that the boy was here, standing in front of him, stinking of other men and _asking_ to be claimed, Peter wasn’t sure he could deny him. A million thoughts competed for Peter’s attention.

_Derek’s! Scott’s! Could be yours… He’s underage. Mark him,_ claim _him. Hale property. McCall property!_ Void. _He’ll tear you to pieces. He’ll destroy you. Derek will destroy you. Derek’s house, he’ll smell it everywhere. When will you ever get another chance? He wants it. He wants you. He hates you. He will never want you. Scott will never forgive you. Stiles will hate you. He’s asking. Stiles might be_ yours _… Stiles…_

Before he knew what he was doing, Peter found his hands pushing back the hood on Stiles’ sweatshirt. His nose ran along the edge of Stiles’ jaw and the boy’s head tipped back to allow more contact on his skin. His tongue ran over the clammy skin on Stiles’ neck and he simply _tasted_. The boy was intoxicating, flooding his senses. Peter had to remind himself that Stiles wasn’t prey. He had to give him a chance, an out. Not because he was suddenly a moral person, but because if Stiles wasn’t 110% sure about this, Derek and Scott would find Peter’s body in ashes on the floor.

“You know they will know, right?” Peter mumbled into Stiles’ ear, causing the boy to shiver and fist his hands in the front of Peter’s tee-shirt.

“Scott will forgive me eventually,” Stiles’ voice shook as Peter’s teeth tugged at his earlobe.

“And Derek?” The older man asked. “He’ll smell it the second he steps in the building.” He could almost taste the disappointment in the air as Stiles swallowed down whatever thought he had.

“This is better than the alternative.” Stiles said decisively. Peter snorted a little.

“Maybe for you, you don’t have to live with him.” He muttered. He felt Stiles stiffen a bit and sighed. “It will be alright, I’ve been dealing with his jealously for 22 years. I think I can handle a little more. It just might take some convincing from you for him to believe I didn’t force it on you.”

“Deal.” Stiles nodded, burying his face in Peter’s chest, baring the back of his neck for the ex-Alpha. Peter knew the boy was playing him, but he the nature of the movement pulled at him in a primal way and he found himself cupping one hand along the back of the boy’s neck to manipulate him where he wanted him. 

Peter pulled Stiles a few inches back, just enough space for him to sink a clawed finger into the front of the hoodie and tear the material open. Stiles didn’t protest as Peter shucked the sweatshirt to the floor in pieces. The tee-shirt beneath was a dark navy, spotted with blood seeping through from the boy’s torso. Peter fought to keep the teeth from coming out.

“Burning these,” He growled, tearing the shirt from the boy’s chest without a second thought. He fell to his knees and pressed his face against Stiles’ stomach, scenting him, trying to burn the smell of the blood into his brain so if he ever came across it again, he would finish the man who dared touch his Stiles.

Stiles’ hands threaded through his hair gently and Peter could feel the fingers trembling. He looked up at the young man. Those terrifying eyes were staring down at him, unblinking, and he knew that Stiles would never be his, but maybe, _maybe_ , he could belong to Stiles.

Peter left trails of his own spit as he cleaned off every inch of Stiles’ stomach. He couldn’t bear to see the blood anymore. He had to cleanse Stiles of the vile poison that was burning his own nostrils, scalding his own skin by association. He had to remove the other wolf.

Hickies bruised into Stiles’ hips and collar bone. Peter bared his teeth-his human teeth he was sure- and sunk them into the soft flesh, causing Stiles to whine softly and buck his hips toward Peter’s mouth. The man tugged the sweatpants down Stiles’ hips, all the way into a pool at his feet. Stiles was wearing nothing underneath. Peter’s hands skimmed up the muscular legs and held his hips tight. His tongue striped over the jutting bones to remove any trace of the other wolf’s saliva. Tonight, this skin would be his and his alone.

Stiles squirmed as Peter covered each hicky with his own mark, trying hard not to yank at the man’s hair when he bit down hard. Peter moved up his torso, steadily ignoring the growing hard-on between the boy’s legs, more preoccupied with erasing the former escapade. 

A growl rumbled through Peter’s chest before he could stop it. He was standing again, glaring down at Stiles’ skin, hands creeping around the back of the boy’s neck. Suddenly, he pushed Stiles’ hands out of his hair and spun him around roughly. Stiles froze for a second, unsure of what the wolf would do. Peter’s hands glided up the boy’s back and came to rest near the nape of his neck.

“You said it was all his blood,” Peter accused, voice grumbling and rough. His tongue darted out to lap at the wound on the boy’s neck, feeling every tiny puncture wound, cleaning and healing as best as he could. Stiles shuddered again, fear punctuating through the air, fists held tight, trying not to be afraid. Peter’s hands slid down the boy’s arms as gently as he could manage while trying not to change. “You said he _tried_.”

Stiles’ eyes burned white-hot as he promised himself he wouldn’t cry in front of Peter, of all people.

“He did try.” Stiles insisted. Peter held the boy tight against his chest, one hand reaching around Stiles and pulling him close, the other sliding down his arm to uncurl one of the boy’s fists. Stiles was full-on shaking now. “I’m not his,” Stiles’ voice trembled, whether with shame or rage, Peter couldn’t tell. 

Peter leaned in close again, breathing in Stiles’ ear, causing the boy to sigh and relax slightly.

“I will erase him.” Peter promised, sliding the hand from Stiles’ chest down to his groin. “I will erase every fucking fingerprint from your skin.” He curled his fingers around Stiles’ cock and Stiles leaned his head back against Peter. “You will never be his,” Peter whispered, spinning back around to the front of the boy. “You will be ours,” He nosed along Stiles’ jaw, leaving kisses and nipping at the tender skin there. “Mine and Derek’s and Scott’s,” He breathed against Stiles’ lips, knowing that Stiles would stop this at any second if he even started to second-guess himself. 

“Not his…” Stiles whimpered as Peter’s grip tightened and he began to move his fist. 

“Never.” Peter promised, his other hand making its way lower down Stiles’ back. He leaned in and stole Stiles’ lips. Gently at first, testing, but when Stiles became pliant under his touch, he became more aggressive, biting the boy’s lips and pushing his tongue into the welcome heat. He mapped out what he could, desperate for Stiles’ mouth to taste like _him_ and not some other bitch. Stiles seemed eager to allow it, opening up for him without hesitation. 

Peter slid two fingers into the boy’s crack, trying to gauge how far the other might have gotten, when Stiles’ fists clenched again. He pulled back, stilling both hands and looking over Stiles’ face. Stiles’ cheeks flushed a dull red and he glanced away.

“Top?” Peter guessed, raising an eyebrow. To be frank, he was not expecting that. Stiles shook his head, sweaty hair flopping down onto his forehead.

“Just…” Stiles shifted a little in place. “Lube?” He asked, trying not to squirm. Peter couldn’t help it, he sighed.

“You didn’t use any before?” He asked with irritation. Kids were certainly dumber these days. Stiles shrugged.

“He took the pain,” He offered with a bitter tone to his voice. Peter tried his damnedest not to allow his spike of anger to take over while his hand was on the boy’s dick.

“Jesus fucking Christ Stiles!” He yelled, but Stiles met his eyes and didn’t even flinch. “It’s not supposed to fucking hurt. I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch…” Stiles shrugged, but his eyes were hard again.

“Are you gonna fuck me or not?” He demanded, cupping Peter’s cock in one hand. Peter was clearly up for this, regardless of whether he was preoccupied with other thoughts.

Peter felt his wolf howl with a mixture of rage and desire. He stepped back and threw off his shirt, kicking off his jeans in a surprisingly swift movement and grabbing Stiles by the face, dragging him into a furious kiss. Stiles let himself be led backwards until they crashed into the couch. Peter flipped him around and bent him over the back, barely giving him a second to breathe. He felt a desperate clawing at his heart. When he saw the pale ass bent over and open for him, he knew immediately why the other asshole had decided against lube. If he weren’t so furious and bent on erasing every memory of the other man, he would have claimed Stiles right now and taken the pain for himself too. 

Peter knocked Stiles’ legs apart with his knees and reached up to pull the boy’s arms behind his back. He held them there with one hand and pulled apart his cheeks with the other. The heady scent of Stiles and man and wolf and cum and _Stiles_ was so heavy in his head that he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and tasting it. His tongue swiped over the boy’s rim without hesitation and a deep groan fell from Stiles’ lips. Peter felt like his whole body was on fire as he drove his tongue as deep into the caverns of Stiles’ body as he could possibly reach. Stiles pressed his forehead into the cushions hard as he pressed back against Peter’s mouth. Peter let his teeth catch at the sensitive skin whenever he could, causing Stiles to grind forward into the couch, rough fabric causing friction over his sensitized dick. 

Unable to resist much longer, Peter suddenly stood, leaving Stiles’ hole empty and clenching on nothing but air. Stiles looked back at him with desperate eyes, but made no move to get up.

“Stay.” Peter commanded, turning away and jumping the stairs two at a time without looking back. He threw open the drawer beside his bed and grabbed the bottle he needed, skidding back down the steps to find the boy plastered against the furniture, wanting, needy and exactly as he left him. He crossed the room and laid a hand at the small of Stiles’ back. 

“Good boy.” He praised. “Now let me show you how a real man does it,” He spread Stiles open again with one hand, dripping lube down his crack with the other. He noticed Stiles holding his arms together behind his back, now that Peter wasn’t touching him. The wolf in him beamed with pride that his pup was obeying without question. Peter dripped more lube onto his own dick and tossed the bottle aside. He palmed himself roughly a few times to coat his skin, before turning his attention back to the whimpering boy. He slipped two fingers through the lube on Stiles, pressing against his hole. He slipped one inside and brought his tongue back beside it, continuing right where he left off. Stiles let out a huff and Peter tore his eyes away from the beautiful, greedy hole in front of him to look at the boy’s face.

Stiles still had dark, solid eyes, barely blinking, always in control, even though his face was flushed and he bit roughly into his lower lip to keep in whatever noises he didn’t want to make.

“Ah ah,” Peter scolded, withdrawing his tongue and finger from Stiles’ heat. “Let me hear what you want.” He trailed his fingers in small circles around Stiles’ rim. “Tell me what you need.”

“Please, Peter.” Stiles begged immediately. He pressed back against Peter’s hand, trying to be full again. “Fuck me. Do it now.” Peter was about to continue teasing him, slipping in two fingers just because Stiles was being such a good pup, when he opened his beautiful mouth again. “Make me yours, I wanna smell like you. I wanna be Hale, I wanna be McCall, I want Derek and Scott and everyone to know,” Stiles sobbed out. “Please fuck me, I’ll never be his, Never!” Peter felt a white-hot glow from within the boy, pulling at him like a magnet. He tore away from Stiles and lined up to give him exactly what he begged for, wolf inside howling and filling his head with pleas and domination. 

Peter sank into the boy without any further ceremony. He covered Stiles’ body with his own, determined to pound out any microscopic scent of anyone else, and tiniest bit of anything left inside of Stiles would be taken over by his own seed. His skin would be covered by his own marks. Stiles would be his.

Stiles’ hands slipped from his arms, and Peter held him tight, pinning him in place. Suddenly, the mark from the other Alpha caught his eye and he wanted nothing more than to sink his own teeth into the holes that never went quite deep enough. Suddenly, it wasn’t enough to just have the boy’s body, he needed his blood too. Stiles cried out when Peter hit against his prostate and the man repeatedly slammed into him until he was a sobbing mess against the couch. Peter leaned down, his sweat dripping onto the boy’s skin. His teeth sunk into Stiles’ ear, much rougher than he intended to, but Stiles didn’t seem to mind if the jolt of precum in the air was anything to go by.

“Do you have any idea what you are?” He growled, afraid he was tasting blood. Stiles whimpered, but did not reply. Peter’s head was a fog of arousal and desire, instinct and determination. He could taste the power in the boy’s skin. He wanted it, needed it as his own. It would grow his strength, his pack. It would be his and he would be Stiles’. He couldn’t remember why he shouldn’t, why he didn’t want to give in to the Alpha. “Give me a reason not to take you right now, Stiles,” He spoke around his fangs. “Why would you ever trust me?”

“Hands,” Peter thought he heard, somewhere in the desperate, gasping breaths and moans. He was confused, but when Stiles whined out, “Gonna cum,” he forgot everything he was thinking. The boy tightened impossibly around him and the sticky, sweet, bitter scent of Stiles flooded his nostrils and he lost it. His claws shot out and he at least had the mind not to claw his little human to bits, instead tearing into Derek’s couch. He came inside of Stiles, wolf proudly coursing through him as he claimed the boy from the inside. 

The room came spinning back into focus as the mixed scents of him and Stiles washed over them, calming the wolf and the man back into being. They breathed hard for a moment, Peter still locked deep inside Stiles. When the boy began to squirm, Peter pulled out and watched with satisfied amusement as his seed leaked out onto the floor. Stiles lay limp over the back of the couch for a moment like a rag. Peter carefully lifted him and stood him upright, looking over every bit of him, tasting blood and worried about what he’d done. 

Stiles was a little beat-up, bruised, bites and hickies covering his whole body, but all of his marks were of the human variety. The only atypical markings were the tiny pinpricks at the back of Stiles’ neck, licked and nursed clean by Peter, slowly healing with what Peter suspected supernatural speed that Stiles was unaware of.

When Stiles’ legs were no longer jelly, Peter let him stand alone, but made no move to leave. They were quiet a few minutes, Stiles looking dazed, but content. He looked over to his tattered clothes and scowled. Peter stepped between him and the pile before the sweet air could sour with Stiles’ thoughts.

“I’ll take care of it.” He promised. “Go shower and borrow Derek’s clothes. They’ll be back soon and you probably want to be gone by then.” Stiles nodded and roamed up the spiral stairs to where he knew the shower was. 

Peter sighed, waiting until he heard the pipes running to go fetch a trash bag for Stiles’ clothes. He shoved the tattered bits into the thick plastic, tying it tightly closed. He ran up to his room and stepped into a pair of his own sweatpants before nudging Derek’s door open and pulling open a drawer in the dresser. He grabbed a henley, boxers that Derek hadn’t worn in years, and a pair of jeans from the back that were probably too small for him by now. He guessed they would be close to fitting Stiles. He left the room, closing the door behind him, not that Derek wouldn’t be able to tell he was there. He left the small pile outside the bathroom and headed back downstairs.

Taking the trash bag in hand, he slid open the door and jogged down the steps to the dumpster out back. Just as he was heading back, he heard the Camaro engine from down the street. Shit. He hadn’t exactly thought about how to handle the Alphas when they returned. He didn’t know if it was better or worse that Stiles was still here. He ran back up to the loft and surveyed the damage. There wasn’t too much evidence… other than the torn up couch covered in semen, his clothes he’d shed in a pile on the floor and the overwhelming smell of sex and him and Stiles… He was a dead man.

Just as he was about to pick up his clothes, Stiles came down the steps.

“They’re back, aren’t they?” He asked, toweling his hair dry with one hand. Peter nodded, scooping his clothing into his arms, hearing the vehicle enter the parking garage through the walls of the building. Stiles pulled at the sleeves of the henley, Derek’s scent mixing with his in a peaceful, comforting way. “Hey,” Stiles said quickly, sensing they didn’t have much time. 

Peter looked over the boy, deciding whatever he had to say was probably more interesting than his futile attempt to cover what had happened. 

“You asked me earlier,” He said vaguely, staring dead into Peter’s eyes with that cold look, although his face was calm and collected. “Your hands.” He pointed his chin in Peter’s direction. Peter looked down and shifted the clothing he was holding. Although his left hand held the scars he was familiar with, his right palm was now scored with similar unnatural veins climbing across the skin to match the other side. 

A terror shot through Peter that he couldn’t control. He felt like his wolf had been scolded deep inside of him. He closed his fists around his clothing and tried not to let his panic show. Could Stiles have control over this? Did he know what he was doing? He met the boy’s eyes and saw a tiniest bit of apology.

“I knew you knew.” Was Stiles’ only explanation before Peter heard the indignant rage of Scott barreling up the stairs and Derek hesitating a moment behind. 

Scott threw open the sliding door, eyes red as neon, claws ready to destroy.

“You have five seconds to explain why I shouldn’t kill you now,” Scott growled. Derek came up behind him, pushing past and surveying the scene, his own Alpha trying to break through. Peter let his blue eyes flash in response, but before any werewolf territory battles broke out, Stiles stepped calmly in the middle of them all.

“I asked him to,” Stiles offered, looking pointedly away from the betrayed look Derek threw to him. “If you put away the wolves, maybe I’ll explain it to you. If not, then you guys can tear each other to pieces, see if I care.” He snapped, crossing back to the stairs and hanging his towel on the railing. Scott was at his side before he could blink.

“Did he hurt you?” He was sniffing around Stiles like a puppy, but the boy found it endearing. He gave his best friend a small smile. Derek was trying his damnedest not to launch into Peter and his uncle was inching away from them all toward the kitchen.

“I asked him, Scotty,” He promised softly. “I just needed to smell like pack.” Scott’s eyebrows went up in concern. 

“And _that’s_ how you decided to do it?” He asked, bewildered. 

“With Peter!” Derek finally accused, hurt clearly cutting through his voice. Stiles felt the guilt coming back. Peter scented it in the air before either of the others’ noses even twitched.

“Believe it or not, nephew, he probably would have preferred you,” Peter offered, trying to make peace while keeping as much distance as he could. Stiles threw him a small smile from the stairs, where Scott was making a physical barrier with his body whether he realized it or not. Both Peter and Stiles knew he was lying, but Stiles was grateful for the out.

“I wanted to smell like pack,” Stiles promised again, Scott clearly listening for a lie and finding none. Stiles snuggled deeper into Derek’s henley and Peter could swear he saw his nephew melt a little bit. Stiles certainly knew how to play for what he wanted.

Scott tentatively laid his hands on Stiles’ shoulders and looked him over again.

“But why, Stiles?” He begged, trying to understand. “Why the Hell wouldn’t you call me?” He was trying not to be hurt, but also trying to give Stiles the benefit of the doubt. Stiles looked lost for words, Derek staring at him, awaiting an answer as well.

“He was attacked.” Peter finally said. Not totally a lie. Stiles’ eyes went wide. “There was a wolf who didn’t belong here, thought he would add to his collection.” Derek’s eyes flared to life again, sparking Scott to join him.

“Who?” Derek demanded, stepping forward to Peter.

“He hurt you?” Scott asked at the same time.

“I took care of it, we came back here, and it may have escalated a bit while we awaited your return.” Peter tried to calm his nerves, knowing that Scott and Derek were on edge, ready to kill him or the other nameless wolf. Scott wrapped Stiles in his arms and rubbed his face all over the skin he could reach. Stiles giggled a little as the floppy hair tickled his neck.

“Scotty,” Stiles laughed when Scott picked him up and carried him over toward Derek. The older man was still glaring, obviously furious at both Peter and the other wolf, but when Scott shoved Stiles close to him and the smell of his clothes on his human swirled around him, he couldn’t help but relax. 

“Promise me, Stiles,” Derek said softly, tentatively reaching out toward Stiles’ jaw with one hand. “Promise he didn’t do anything you didn’t want?” He asked, looking deep into Stiles’ eyes. Stiles smiled, leaning his face into Derek’s hand.

“I promise Der,” He whispered. “Now, are you gonna hug me, or not?” Derek smiled and pulled Stiles close, burying his nose in the boy’s hair. Scott stepped back and looked over warily at Peter, whose heart had skipped a beat when Stiles spoke.

“Maybe call us next time,” He grumbled, clearly still displeased that his best friend had fucked Peter _apparently_ willingly. Peter nodded, still hoping that Derek wouldn’t kill him for what he did to the boy. He glanced over at the stairs, still needing to dispose of the pile of clothing in his hands before he was forced to strangle someone with them in defense. Just as he took a step, Derek’s growl ripped through the air.

“Mine,” Derek whined through the growl, more emotion than Peter had probably ever seen from the boy in the past year. His nephew was rubbing his nose through Stiles’ damp hair, trying to claim the boy as unobtrusively as he could. Stiles’ heartbeat was calm and gentle as he whispered back, _“Yes,”_

Peter stepped closer to the stairs and Derek’s eyes sprang to him, arms still tightly clamped around the smaller boy. Peter’s heart dropped. The flash of red told Peter everything he needed to know. Derek would never forgive him for what he’d done, not unless Peter told him everything. Derek knew there was more, even if Scott blindly trusted anything Stiles told him. Derek would let this go until the younger boys had gone home, but as soon as they left, the Alpha would get the answers or the revenge he wanted. 

Peter’s eyes flashed blue in response to the Alpha command. 

**Author's Note:**

> \--
> 
> AH. Hope you liked it. I just sat around for four hours making this happen. :)
> 
> Till next time,
> 
> -J X


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